Ships

by Oonah V Joslin

You lifted a concept from the shadows
on a drawing board, flat and unpolished;
paper, sand-paper, stranded, sanded wood;
modeled it, toyed with it. You called it ‘she,’
shared in her longing for a ceaseless sea.

‘A mast is not a mast that has no sail,’
you heard her wail.
‘A sail is but a canvas without wind,’
her paint complained.

Unbound her from her ropes, you set her free
to dance in her own elemental way
breathing an ecstasy of storm and sky
wave after wave of crystal-splintered light
from dawn to sinking Sun daring the day
far, far from the idea she once was
far from the sea-bed skeleton she’ll be.